We have a massive oak tree in our backyard, and it has me worried with its heavy branches arching over a third of the house. One of these days during a dangerous storm, the tree may just decide to let one of its branches go, but that has not happened. Yet.

We have lived in this house for over three years, and I am just figuring out the rhythm of the tree’s cycles. In the spring, the tree drops leaves as new leaves come out. I don’t really know why the tree just doesn’t keep its leaves forever, but Mother Nature has a mind of her own. Then a few weeks after covering the roof and backyard with 17 billion leaves, it begins to drop seeds. At last count it was just shy of 1.2 trillion. They are everywhere.

The picture above does not give a good image of the volume, because I took it about a week late. Now, here is the strangest part. I realized that in the night during the seed fall, hundreds of birds come and feast on the seeds. This explains why the ground is splattered with bird poop in the mornings. This lasts about a week. We never see them, but my wife with better hearing than her husband, has mentioned that she sometime hears them during the night.

Again, this image is deceiving, because the splats number in the thousands. The picture above was a day after rain. The first time I encountered the thousands of splats on the ground, grass and bricks of the walkway, I tried to convince myself it was something other than bird poop, because there was no other evidence of the birds. I rubbed my finger against some to see if it would come up, and even thought that if I could get some up, perhaps even give it the old primitive taste test. Now that I realize it is indeed bird poop, I am glad I was not able to get any of it to come up.

Before I came to the conclusion that it was something that come out of the bottom of birds as they chowed down on my tree’s seeds, I ventured out to the front yard to investigate if there was any poop there, and there was. But it was under the neighbor’s tree in their front yard.

So, while investigating the poop in the front yard, an elderly couple comes strolling down the sidewalk. Normally I do my best to avoid others, but my curiosity convinced me to speak with them.

“Excuse me. How long have you lived here in the area?”

They told me but I forgot what they said, but it was 20 something years.

“See these white spots on the sidewalk is. Do you have any idea what they are?”

Man: “Looks like bird poop.”

“Well in my backyard, they are everywhere.”

Man again: “Looks like bird poop.”

The conversation went in several different directions, but eventually the woman started explaining to me the scenario.

Woman: “Your tree in the backyard is the largest in the neighborhood.”

That make me straighten up with pride, as if I was the one who planted it.

“It is the Mississippi kite. They are big beautiful birds in the area. You see them everywhere! See, look! There are large nests in your trees.” she added.

I looked up at the tree in back, but didn’t see any nests. I actually have not seen any of these birds, so I don’t know if she was telling the truth or not. But I didn’t tell her that.

But now I know. We went out and purchased a large shovel for my wife to scoop up the almost 1.2 trillion seeds, mixed with at least 17 billion leaves. I  stood nearby holding a bag open to put the shovelfuls in.

        Image by Rescuechick from Wikipedia

Ya’ know, this ol’ world is an amazing thing to learn about.

 

 

I casually mentioned to my lovely wife, today is my dad’s birthday. She, being the amazing person she is, made the suggestion that I take some of the whiskey he drank and go into the backyard and make a toast to him. Sounded like an excellent idea, so we did just that.

So, to the man who taught me how to change the oil in a Plymouth, explained to us about tornados and lightning, raised nine kids and survived despite a few of us, taught us going to mass every Sunday was just a part of life, who would talk about his ancestry and his time working in the service of our great country. Who built his final house with his hands and had a desk that was tidy and neat, unlike a few of us. Whose dry sense of humor created the benchmark for our humor, (for those of us who have humor). Who would make a trip to Iowa to get his relatives to gather once a year, telling them the same stories over and over. We salute you.

This man has left memories in each of us to last a lifetime. Everyone in the family has different stories to tell about him, and I truly wish we could all gather our memories together and record them, and yet I know that would not happen. In truth, everyone who leaves this earth to return Home, leaves memories that we all experience differently, and would fill volumes.

All we can do, is sit back with a shot of Old Forester whiskey and raise it to the sky, and say, “Thanks, Pop. You did good.”

Someday each of us will be able to sit next to him again, and hear his stories of growing up in Iowa, and Grandmother Nolte making everything edible with potatoes.

Then my wife suggested, perhaps the next time some of us gather in the great City of Pampa during the month of March, we should also share a toast to my mother, whose favorite wine was chardonnay, but drank the chillable red box wine.

Sometimes I feel sorry for those who are not a part of this amazing family.